


Atrophy

by idiotbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idiotbrothers/pseuds/idiotbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's a demon now, and he's different, and Sam's caught in an emotional limbo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atrophy

Sam’s just watched Dean crush a guy’s neck with a single lunging swipe of his arm, and a spatter of the man’s blood hits Sam’s face as Dean breaks his nose for good measure, fists flying and face the picture of calm. It takes Sam a minute to snap out of it and tell Dean to stop pummeling the corpse.

Dean obeys, and Sam’s still getting used to that, to this new version of Dean that does whatever he says without so much as blinking. Sam hates it, wishes Dean would yell at him or even knock him around a little like he used to, but he figures he would just confuse Dean if he told him so. “You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Dean asks, expression switching from apathetic to concerned as he drops the guy’s body and gets his hands on Sam. 

"I’m fine," Sam tells him, eyelids drooping slightly when Dean’s thumb strokes his cheek, slides into his hair and caresses softly. This is new, too. All the gentle touches, the open affection in Dean’s eyes that Sam can somehow pick out even when they’re pitch-black. It doesn’t make a single bit of sense; since the transformation, Sam’s had plenty of time to observe the way Dean acts with anyone who isn’t him, and he’s ruthless. As cruel and violent as any demon they’ve crossed paths with, all predatory grins and pitiless taunts and hands that rend and shatter.

But he’s completely different with Sam, treating him like he’s fragile, holding him and whispering warm, comforting words into his ear in the dead of night. It’s strangely human and strangely unlike Dean, before he’d died and come back fundamentally changed. It makes Sam ache, somewhere deep inside himself, and he’s afraid to probe the issue. He misses his Dean. 

But he loves this Dean, too, despite the surge of guilt that unsettles his gut every time Dean kisses him or runs his hands down his body.

"What’re you thinking about?" Dean asks, bringing Sam back to the present with a palm to the back of his neck. "Nothing," Sam mumbles, reaching a hand up to wipe the blood from his cheek. "Y’need to learn how to relax, Sammy," Dean huffs, and although the old Dean might have said this with a suggestive smirk or an irritated frown, depending on the situation, this Dean says it quietly, worry crinkling his brow. "Yeah," Sam concedes, burying his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and breathing him in.

Dean’s behavior isn’t limited to private situations, either. When they’re working cases, suited up and gruff and thrumming with impatience, Dean will take Sam’s hand or lean into his space, and Sam would pull away, he really would—kind of takes away from their cover if they’re making eyes at each other in the Fed get-ups—but it’s… _nice_. And the people they’re interrogating usually don’t react beyond a surprised stare or two; those who do start to comment are usually silenced by a cool glare from Dean. 

The whole thing is weird and ridiculous and it’s sort of driving Sam crazy, because up is down and down is up and his brother’s a bloodthirsty demon who likes to spoon him and kiss the tears from his eyelashes when he wakes up thrashing and screaming. Several months in, a man who hits on Sam gets his head torn off by Dean, quick and effortless. Sam cries for hours. Dean plants tender, blood-stained kisses along his neck. After that incident, Sam lays down a handful of ground rules. No murdering civilians. No body desecration. No shirking of societal boundaries in polite company.

That last one gives them a bit of trouble, because Sam isn’t exactly in the habit of denying Dean what he wants, and Dean wants a  _lot_. More than a few times, Sam has to knock Dean’s wandering hand away or turn to the side and adjust himself, face heating up conspicuously. Another new thing about Dean that Sam has to get used to is his superhuman strength, and how he demonstrates it on Sam. Evidently, he likes to lift him, hefting up Sam’s bulk as if he’s as light as a feather and carrying him out to the car or to bed. It’s pretty goddamn irritating. And of course, whenever Sam tells him to put him down, Dean complies, righting Sam and smiling at him indulgently, which always just ends up making Sam feel even more disoriented. 

Rationally, he knows that this isn’t his brother. He almost wishes he could see his true face now, to remind himself of that fact and jar him out of his weak-willed complacency. Because what he’s doing, settling for this unusual imitation of Dean, it’s weakness. He can’t help the warmth that pools in his chest when Dean grins at him or licks a stripe down his chest, can’t help getting drunk on the fondness in every word that Dean speaks to him. He knows that he should be researching everything he can on demonology, that he should be figuring out where Dean’s soul is, if it’s still somehow intact after what Crowley did.

Instead, though. Instead, he lets Dean suck on his tongue, lets Dean throw an arm around him in public and hold his hand and fuck him into his memory foam mattress, and really, “lets” doesn’t fit into the equation. Because Sam’s starting to forget how it feels to have Dean’s anger directed at him, and he finds that as much as some part of him misses it, a different part of him is incredibly relieved. A part of him that ought to be destroyed permanently, really, because Sam doesn’t deserve this in the slightest, not when he isn’t even trying to look for Dean. 


End file.
